


A Helping Hand

by HelenaKey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Crack Treated Seriously, Female Loki (Marvel), Frenemies, Future Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, James Bond References, Post-Infinity War, Rescue Missions, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaKey/pseuds/HelenaKey
Summary: Sometimes helps comes from unexpected places; it's up to you wheter you chose to accept it or not. Or, Five Times Lady Loki saved the Avengers, and One Time an Avenger saved her.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I've been meaning to writte something about Lady Loki for a while, and I finally got some inspiration to do it. It's been a while since I've written fanfiction, so I'm sorry if I've gotten a little rusty. Also, english is not my first language, so please bear with me!! 
> 
> As always, I had way too much fun writting Loki/Tony interactions, so even thought this is not a shippy thing, expect more of them in later chapters! PS: The fact that the first scene looks like something taken out of a cheap spy movie is not lost to me. Please, refrain from booing at me.

“Perhaps, this is karma.” Osborn said, slightly leaning against the worktable at his back. His usually clean, well-groomed business suit was in a disarray, and his short ginger hair looked unpleasant plastered the way it was against his forehead. The heat of the room was getting to him, and it showed. Briefly, Tony wondered why he was even bothering. While the temperature of the chamber was certainly too high for comfort, he surely didn’t expect him to crack over such a small unpleasantry? Self-confidence truly was a double-edged sword.

“Karma, how?” He asked, subtly struggling against the restrains binding his wrists to the chair. They didn’t budge, but that hardly came across as a surprise, after so many failed attempts. Perhaps, if he got the guy talking for a while the distraction would be enough for him to find another means of escape; preferably, one that didn’t involve relying on a brute strength that he knew himself not to possess. With FRIDAY out of reach and his Iron Man suits nowhere to be seen, Tony wasn’t sure how much of a treat he represented, and that made him uneasy. Defenselessness was not a feeling he was used to, and he found it rubbed at him in the wrong way.

“You can’t tell me you don’t find it fitting? It’s like… slaying a mountain troll, or cutting the head of the Dragon.” Osborn smiled as he spoke, backing away from the worktable and moving towards him in a nonchalant strode. Bound as he was, Tony forced himself not to flinch when he felt his wrinkly old hands taking a hold of his face – making him look up. “You might have fooled the world with that crippled impression of yours. The act of the repentant man, the guilt-stricken Samaritan; the redeemed hero they call Iron Man. But you do not fool me, Tony Stark. A lifetime of good deeds isn’t enough to erase the mark the Merchant of Death left on the world.”

Tony felt bile rising up his throat at the mention of the old, long forgotten nickname, and struggled not to let it show on his face. He wouldn’t give Osborn the satisfaction. He needed to keep his head clear, after all, if he wanted to get at least a bit of information out of him. Even if Osborn’s lips remained turned upwards, there still was something more than mere amusement shinning in his eyes; something more cruel and vicious that spoke of personal incentives, and Tony didn’t fail to notice it. He almost couldn’t help but laugh, because he realized that he had the answer to the question he had made himself a while back, when he had woken up in the middle of a dark basement, bound to be taunted and mocked at by a bitter little man whose face he barely recognized from Stark Industries’ conference meetings.

“Uh, so that’s what this is about? You into the revenge-seeking type of thing? Cause you aren’t the first, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.” Tony said, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible. If his reading of the man was accurate, some disinterested provocation would be enough to make him loose his bearings. It could prove to be a dangerous move, but it could also buy him valuable time, and if he poke the right nerve, anger was bound to make Osborn commit a mistake.

The man simply laughed, thought; a short and bitter sound that could have been taken for shortness of breath, and after patting Tony’s cheek a couple of times he let go of him and returned to his place by the worktable. “Oh, I wouldn’t call it revenge. I do prefer to think of it as… _retaliation._ ” Osborn said, turning his back to him and bending over the large metal table, seemingly searching for something. He reached out, and suddenly a faint shrilling sound rang in the darkness of the room – cutting through that dreadful quietness that over the years Tony had learned to associate with the underground. A shiver ran down his back.

He hadn’t been tortured, ever since Afghanistan. Missions had gone wrong once or twice, and he had been captured by the enemy one too many times, but that wasn’t rare in his line of work and somehow he had always managed to walk out of the matter unscathed. A part of him had wanted to believe that if he ever found himself facing this sort of situation again, he wouldn’t be as defenseless as he had been the first time. He had wanted to think that after everything he had gone through, he had grown strong enough to withstand it. It was disappointing, to say the least, to find out that he had been wrong.

As Osborn turned to him again, holding a deceptively small drill in his left hand, Tony could feel the beginnings of panic rising up his chest. Suddenly, breathing normally was becoming a rather difficult task. The item was unremarkable on itself, and to the untrained eye it could have come across as harmless; he was no amateur, thought, and no matter how innocuous they seemed, he was always wary when it came to dealing with devices of persuasion. As he approached him again, Osborn smiled – a nasty curve of the lips that left his sharp, slightly yellow teeth on display, and this time when he cupped his face with one hand to level their gazes, Tony couldn’t find it in himself to cover up his flinching.

“It’s pretty, isn’t?” He asked, idly waiving his weapon of choice in front of Tony’s face, as if to let him see it better. Big brown eyes followed the movement, seemingly entranced by the small object. The faint shrilling sound wouldn’t subside, and having the drill hoovering so close to him now, Tony got the impression that it was getting louder. He pulled at his restraints, more forcibly than before, but once again they refused to budge.

“The first hole probably won’t kill you.” Osborn said, bringing the wretched item to his exposed neck and then further on; letting the tip of it grace the tender, softer skin of his nape. “Not the second. Not even the third. Not until it reaches the brain, and when it does…” He licked his lips in delight, his eyes darkening to a hazy grey. Tony shuddered and closed his eyes; feeling panic bubbling up at the bottom of his stomach. He wouldn’t scream, he told himself. If there was one thing he had learned from last time, was that thrashing and screaming only made things more painful.

Suddenly, Tony’s world was reduced to the maddening humming of the drill and to Osborn’s hot, eager panting. He couldn’t feel much more, besides that. Just the turgid silence hanging in the air, a hint of expectancy tugging at his muscles, and a tendril of cold sweat running down his back. The tip of the drill finally found tissue, and Tony swore he could hear the sound of his skin breaking, bit by bit. He fought not to squirm, knowing the movement would make things messier, and briefly wondered which part of his brain Osborn was trying to pierce, and how much of him would change once he was through.

He didn’t get to find out.

Far away, in the distance, the blaring sounds of battle reached Tony’s ears. The bloodied gadget was retired from his flesh, and as Osborn sharply turned to look at the closed metal doors that lead to the basement, he could feel every muscle in his body loosen up in relief. If he had been less of a skeptic, the incident might have lead him to believe that there was, indeed, someone up there looking out for him. Fortunately, he was what he was, and his dubiousness still felt hale and hearty beneath the skin.

In a haze, Tony saw how the small drill that just seconds ago had been about to end his life was carelessly thrown across the large worktable, immediately stalling its hideous shrilling sound. Osborn moved towards the exit at a furious pace, looking livid, but as he cracked the door open and peered outside, all his resolution seemed leave him in the form of a ragged breath. Tony bended his neck to the side in an effort to see what was going on in the adjacent hallway, but the angle was off and he couldn’t make out anything beyond his captor’s high-strung frame. Now that the doors were open, however, the distinctive sounds of fight and struggle became more evident to him. Dazedly, he wondered what was happening.

In a quick, almost panicked movement, Osborn tried to close the doors once again, but something from outside seemed to stop him; getting between the gates and their high metal frame. From his seat across the room, Tony watched him struggle for a few short, suspense filled seconds before the hinges finally gave in, letting in whatever was trying to make its way into the basement. Both the metal gates and Osborn himself were knocked down, rising a cloud of dust in the air that blinded Tony for a moment. He coughed loudly, struggling against his bindings in a mixture of relief and bewilderment.

It took a while for the air to clear again, and when it did, the sound of metal been roughly pushed out of the way was the only warning Tony got before a tall, menacing figure crossed the torn gateway, heading in his direction. _Well, fuck me,_ he thought dully, not entirely knowing what to make of the sight before him. The way the entrance had been torn apart from the outside, seemingly through nothing but sheer brute force (if the fist marks over the surface were anything to go by) was shocking in itself. The view of Norman Osborn knocked out cold on the ground, arms raised as if to protect himself, even in unconsciousness, was impressive as well; and perhaps a little bit satisfying. In the end, however, what truly took his breath away was not the level of destruction brought about the small, dimly lit basement, but the beautiful young woman standing in the middle of it all, looking unfazed.

“Well, that was awfully easy.” She said, looking around; her eyebrows turned in a shadowy curve that wasn’t quite a frown. Tony found himself staring, feeling at a loss. He knew very little people with such a stirring talent for violence, and even they would have broken out a sweat after barging into a guarded base in such a fashion. The woman before him, however, didn’t seem even slightly affected by the unhuman display of strength that she had just managed to perform. If anything, she seemed refreshed by it; as a runner mildly relishing in the initial trot.

“Are you hurt, mortal?” She asked, walking away from the fallen gates in a careless strode. Tony raised an eyebrow at the word, not feeling as surprised as he would have, a couple of years back. The armor she was wearing was telling enough, and he was more than familiar with that strange, not quite English-like accent that Asgardians usually had. Why one of them had decided that barging into a secret facility to rescue him was worth their trouble was beyond him, but he wasn’t about to complain. He was quite fond of living, after all.

“Eh, not particularly? If you could untie me, though - that would be nice.” He said, pointedly looking down at the metal bindings. She smiled at that; a small, wicked gesture that Tony found awfully familiar, but couldn't quite pinpoint from where. She moved to stand behind him, then, hands hovering momentarily over the metal handcuffs immobilizing his arms; as if inspecting them. Tony heard her make a sound that might have been a snort if it hadn’t been so soft, and suddenly he felt her grabbing him by the wrists and roughly pulling at them; breaking the chain binding them together with the easiness of a toddler breaking a stick.

As soon as he was freed, Tony brought his hands up to his neck to assess the damage. The drill had indeed managed to pierce the skin, and he could feel the reddened flesh around the wound tingling slightly, but there was barely any blood and the pain was tolerable, so he count himself lucky. “So, may I know with whom I have the pleasure?” He asked, standing up for the first time in what felt like an eternity; the muscles of his legs felt sore, and there was an irksome throbbing in his lower back for being in the same position for too long. As he stretched, the woman walked closer to the exit again, perhaps trying to make sure that there weren’t any more guards in the proximities.

“Oh, you know my name already. You just don’t tie me to it.” She said, not turning to look at his way, but at the hallway stretching before her. Tony frowned at that, not understanding. Before he could say anything, thought, the woman was already moving out of the basement, her heavy footsteps making an echo in the otherwise silent structure. Unfamiliar as he was with his surroundings, and with a distinctive lack of information about the place he was in or the dangers he might face, Tony felt compelled to follow her.

“Alright, mystery lady. No names, then. Although I suspect you already know mine, so you have me in something of a disadvantage here.” He murmured, staring at the woman’s back as he made his way through the darkened hallway. There were two short scabbars hanging from her armor, greedily protecting the silvery treasures inside from plain view. They were a fine work of craft, and Tony couldn’t help but stare at them in silent awe; the weapon builder inside him beaming with morbid curiosity. She didn’t seem to notice the scrutiny, and if she did, she said nothing about it.

“Let us say we’ve meet in the past, during somehow… excruciating circumstances.” She responded, barely turning her head to the side to give him a brief look. She had green eyes, he noticed; lovely little things hovering over sharp cheekbones. Once again, he had that odd feeling of familiarity, but as much as he tried to remember, the memories refused to come to the surfaced. He winced as he navigated through possibilities, knowing full well that there was a time in his life in which forgetting faces in such an appalling way was part of a daily routine.

“Oh, god, you are not a one-time-thing gone wrong, are you? Because that would be _so_ awkward.” He said, unconsciously taking a step back. He had seen the woman use her strength in a pretty intimidating way already; he wasn’t looking forward to engage in fisticuffs with her anytime soon. It wouldn’t be the first time an ex-lover took a swing at him out of anger, after all. Far from raging, however, as she turned to look back at him the woman seemed surprised, at first; and then righteously offended.

“Hardly.” She said, her lips curving upwards in a displeased gesture. Her features were sharp but delicate, and they contorted dramatically with the slightest facial movement, as if they wished for the whole world to know of the disgust that Tony’s question had caused. It almost made him feel affronted. “You might fool your Midgardian women into fulfilling your vile desires. It’s of no consequence to me. I, on my part, refuse to fall for the tawdry tricks of a promiscuous midget.”

“Wow, _that_ stung.” Tony said, huffing out a laugh; he sure had never been insulted with so much eloquence before. The woman gave him a short, bemused smile, and turned her head to look straight ahead. Tony wondered where he might have met her, if they had not been acquainted in that way, but his pondering lead to little if not nothing, and he quickly abandoned it. As they made their way through the darkened hallways of the facility, and the woman’s stance grew increasingly tenser than before, he realized that he had more important things to worry about. They still hadn’t made it out to safety, after all, and if the sounds of heavy footsteps running in their direction was anything to go by, they were yet bound to stumble into trouble.

No matter. He could always ask questions later.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by You do not have to walk in your knees, a lovely work by Lise :)


End file.
